The booth's soft velvet seemed to engulf Lin Wan Wan entirely. Though she didn't yet know his actual, powerful identity, seated next to the mysterious guy Ye Tingjue, the stifling pulse of the club's music dimmed to a dull throb, a counterpart to her own wild hammering heart. His proximity was disturbing; a faint, costly cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something distinctly masculine, enveloped her and made her feel both choked and oddly conscious.
"So," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum that seemed to ripple across the seat. "Your brother is sick. And you need a lot of money. It was a declaration, not a question; his dark eyes fastened on hers, relentless, as if he could see straight through her carefully put up front to the quivering desperation under.
Wanwan nodded, her throat strained. Yes, sir. especially sick. Anemia in aplastic form. He needs constant treatment as well as finally a bone marrow transplant. The hospital will have to cut his treatment; they have given me seventy-two hours to make a major deposit. The words came out, trembling she couldn't quite control mixed in. She held her hands firmly in her lap to prevent shaking.
"Aplastic anemia," he said, the medical phrase flowing off his tongue with surprising familiarity. He slanted slightly forward, his eyes sharpening. "And you feel I am in a position to reduce this... financial load?"
"Meili... a friend... She mentioned that occasionally this booth attracted a male. Someone kind. someone who has a reputation for lending aid to those in great need. She described a... unique tie pin. Wanwan's eyes darted to his collar, to the metal glistener there. It was something, not exactly what Meili described. In her need, it was plenty. "I yearned... I asked God it might be you.
A flutter of something unreadable passed across his face: entertainment. Temptation? Alternatively, something else completely. "Kindness is a subjective commodity, Miss...?"
She said, "Lin. Lin Wanwan," her voice hardly a whisper.
"Miss Lin," he said, a ghost of a smile flickering across his mouth. And this "anything" you said. The extent of this "anything" is what? She flushed up her neck as his eyes locked hers. Clearly hanging heavy and silent between them was the suggestion.
Wanwan turned her eye down to her lap. Shame, hot and cutting, swept over her. The cost was this. She had known, had not she? She knew deep down that a man like him at a location like this would not donate without expecting anything in return. But her stomach turned over at the sharp reality of it—the cold, evaluating look he took at her.
She considered Xiaoyu, his thin face and feeble grin. She considered the beeping devices, the hospital's sterile smell, the weight of approaching catastrophe. In the context of his life, her own dignity and comfort seemed like little concessions.
"I meant it, sir," she murmured, trying herself to meet his look once more, her own eyes gleaming with a mix of terror and ferocious will. "My sole family is my brother. In his life, everything is... If it means he receives the required treatment, I will follow your instructions exactly."
For a long period he was silent, his eyes fixed. He seemed to be breaking her down, evaluating her honesty, her desperation. The hush stretched, thick and weighty, broken only by the far-off pulse of music and glass clinking. Wanwan caught her breath, relying on his next words her whole future.
"A compelling story, Miss Lin," he remarked at last, his voice silky as silk but with a little steel edge. And a really admirable show of sibling loyalty. He slanted back and steepled his fingers. "Let us pretend, just momentarily, that I am this kind man you are looking for. Still, such giving is seldom free. Alternatively, shall we mention an investment? Given the kind of quantity you surely need, what could you possible provide me that would be appropriate?
The question tested and was a challenge. He had not inquired about her credentials or abilities. She was the subject of his questions.
Wanwan's brain ran. She possessed no physical object. Not wealth, not connections, not marketable skills appealing to a man of his level. She possessed only herself. her childhood. Her eagerness.
Her voice quivering slightly, she said, "I... I have nothing valuable either financially or physically." yet I am... I would be ready to donate my time. my friendliness. Whatever... whatever you think just compensation is. Though she forced them out, the words tasted like ashes in her mouth.
His lips opened to a slow, intentional smile. That was not a nice smile. Knowing that it was predatory, it "Companionship," he said, pulling the word out. "A nebulous idea. Let's be more exact. Miss Lin, you know that a transaction is under progress. You need from me something quite valuable. From you, I would then need something of worth.
He stopped, let his words sink in, never looking away from her face. "Tonight, for instance. My evening was not that exciting. It was rather expected. Maybe your company might make it more unforgettable.
Wanwan's pulse dropped. Tonight. So shortly. There was no pretense or soft easing into this horrible agreement. It was sharp, cruel, and instantaneous. In her tummy she had a chilly knot. This was it. The point of no turning around.
She closed her eyes for a little moment, her optimistic face swimming before her. Her will had stiffened when she opened them, conquering the disgust and terror. "If... if your evening's needs call for my company, then... then I agree."
A flutter of something - triumph? Satisfaction? – passed across his features, almost missing. "Excellent," he remarked, his voice free of any feeling except a terrible kind of finality. He pointed to a passing waitress, a red-clad phantom who materialized right away, her gaze submissive and rather terrified as she walked toward their booth.
"Bring us a bottle of your best champagne," he said, his voice laid back, as though he were just ordering a drink following a closed business deal. Two glasses also.
The waitress fled in a hurry.
Wanwan sat paralyzed, a whirlwind of feelings whirling inside her. Relief he had seemed to agree. Terror at what she had lately committed herself to. And a deep, soulful sense of humiliation. She felt cheapened and degraded. Benevolent under all, though, a small, desperate ember of hope for Xiaoyu came alive.
Arriving with amazing speed, the vintage bottle nestled in a silver ice bucket was champagne. She still didn't know his name, and part of her felt reluctant to ask - dismissed the waitress with a little nod. In their confined, focused environment, the pop of the cork stunningly loud when he opened the bottle himself was easy. He poured two flutes, the golden liquid bubbling sedulously.
He handed her one. His fingers lightly stroked hers, a quick, chilly touch that shocked her system. Though it was clearly possessive, a quiet claim, it was not unpleasant.
Rising his glass, he exclaimed, "To new acquaintances." Over the rim, his dark and unfathomable eyes locked with hers. " And to... mutually beneficial arrangements."
Wanwan raised her glass and her hand quitched. She couldn't force herself to squarely meet his eye. She said, "To... to my brother's health," her voice laden with unshed tears. The only toast she could make was the one that counted.
He leaned his head, a small, nearly invisible motion. " Indeed."
They drank silently. The champagne was absolutely wasted on Wanwan, crisp and costly. Each bubble in her mouth served as a reminder of the cost she was about to pay; it tasted like ashes. On the other hand, he drank his with a slow, deliberate pleasure and never looked away from her. He seemed to be reveling in her fragility and discomfort. He seemed like a connoisseur of despair, and she, his most recent acquisition,
Breaking the quiet, he whispered, "Tell me, Miss Lin," his voice once more a silken purr. Apart from your sibling, what else runs across your life? Your dreams and aspirations are what?
She was startled by the question. It appeared so... natural, so out of place in their present, sord meninas, quase como se ele fosse genuinamente curioso. She was suspicious, nevertheless, because of a faint probing undercurrent.
Her voice gentle, she said, "I... I used to dream of being a teacher." "Before everything, before... before. I was reading in literature class. It seems like a lifetime ago, a chapter from someone else's life lost.
"Literature," he mused. "A worthy goal. Now?"
"Now," she added, her voice flat, "my only dream is for Xiaoyu to get well." He nodded slowly. "A single attention." Fantastic, in its own right. Though she had hardly touched the first, he refilled her glass. "You know, Miss Lin, these kind of deals can be complicated. One has to control their expectations.
Wanwan gulped and focussed her eye on the whirling bubbles in her glass. "I see, sir."
"Do you?" ask. Though it sounded gentle, almost like a caress, it shivered her spine. "Wonder." He leaned forward, his presence in the little area suddenly overpowering. Rich and seductive, his smell enveloped her senses. "Miss Lin, I look for loyalty. Discretion. And flawless compliance. Are you able of doing that?"
His bored-into hers, demanding, possessive eyes begged This was not one night; she understood with a horrible turn-about. This had to do with control. He was writing down her terms of capitulation.
She felt panic flutter in her breast, a bird imprisoned against her ribs flapping. But Xiaoyu watched her pale, trusting face swim before her eyes. She had traveled too far to turn around right now.
She said, "Yes," the word hardly audible. Yes, I am.
He opened a slow, content smile. It was the smile of a predator having caught its target. "Good," he said. Rising, he drank his champagne in one graceful gulp and reached out to her. "then I think it's time we retired to a more private environment to complete the specifics of our plan."
His big, well-groomed hand hung in the middle between them. It constituted an invitation, a directive. Taking it would mean crossing a boundary, walking permanently into his realm, into the shadow of their deal.
Wanwan hesitated for a heart-stopping instant. Every feeling shouted at her to flee this golden cage, this attractive but dangerous man. Still, the picture of Xiaoyu—the hospital's ultimatum's ticking clock—solidified her will.
She put her hand quivering into his. His fingers curled around hers, his grip strong, possessive, unavoidable. Leading her out of the booth, away from the throbbing core of The Crimson Pavilion and into an unidentified, shadowed future, Lin Wanwan knew she had just struck a bargain with the devil. She was unaware that for a very, very long period this demon had been waiting for her, gently spinning his web. From his vantage point, the inappropriate seduction was exactly on target. He was Ye Tingjue, after all. And Ye Tingjue always obtained his desires.